it knocks and swiftly enters
finding you naked as the day you were born
you are alone
for so many dawns have come and gone
still, you live thinking
thinking thoughts in disjointed notes
and when you are not,
you are baring your soul to the deal
daring its fangs
to sink into you
and take you through
for nights have ceased appealing
neither days
but you don't to be ambushed, and be found naked
or donning torn underpants
Tuesday 11 February 2020
Saturday 8 February 2020
Vile Banter
Every sports betting enthusiast or gambler – if you choose a higher moral ground – has had this distinct moment in his career: staying late up the night refreshing a live score site or an app. Mind you, this is a feat he (most gamblers are of the male gender) never achieved while in school or if he is still in school has never made head or tail of the advantages unless it involves nudity and free drugs.
The sole purpose of staying late at night is to follow a
minute by minute progress of a team he bet on especially with school fees –
confirming he is a moron – or the last team on his betting list that will
guarantee a windfall. At that moment, there are many glittering things he will
buy, and the mere thought of possessing them is enough to give him an erection.
Unless you are a Kenyan politician, karma does not just sit
by and watch make lots of money without working hard for it. The reason could
that all the luck apportioned to the males in your lineage were all used up by
one of your fathers in his attempts to woo a fairy princess. And so, you will
lose your school fees, and, more painfully, your sleep.
It was a sure bet, you tell yourself, banging your head on a
hard surface. Once in a while, you’ll gather your friends or pretty much
anybody who is interested in your ‘team moja iliniangusha’ story, and go over
the minute details of your gambling exploits, hoping they’ll bow down their
heads and make you a ceremonial gambling god.
That’s never the case because they too have their own
stories, some better than yours especially if they did not bet on school fees.
You will hear of a story where Chelsea, despite having close to useless odds,
therefore poised to win by a landslide margin, gets held to a 2-2 draw by a
lowly Norwich.
“Nilikua nishinde 800k,” the man will tell you and you will
believe him even when he is lying. “It was the last team, and I thought I had
already had the money.” And that was the last time Chelsea was Chelsea to that
gambler. It officially morphed to Chelshit, even if you are a diehard supporter
and were once willing to bet on your own two balls – biological ones just for
the sake of arsenal fans.
The advent of betting added another dimension to football
fanaticism: crude and vile banter. It is no longer about how a team plays shitty
football, but about how that shitty football prevented me from winning a
windfall, thereby changing my fortunes and the fortunes of all the generations
after me, even up to the fifth one. And the emotions expended in it is so real
that it can cut through steel reinforced concrete.
Gone are the days when a game of football was just that.
Despite the fact that Manchester United is a limping team, no self-respecting
fan will bet against it even though they blatantly and boisterously talk about
its complete shittiness. It is often a welcome loss in the case that it has
lost and thereby making one lose money, because it only confirms that you have
always passionately hated Man U, and there’s no way you could ever ever bet on
such a loser team. You call it names referring to a donkeys gonads.
Sometimes, while watching a game of football, and it is open
consensus that majority of the patrons have bet on a certain team, be sure that
banter is legally prohibited on that team people have bet on. These are people
capable of rage that can move mountains. They’ll order your swift removal from
the place because you are causing financial disturbance in manner likely to
cause economic depression. Worse still, they could have been sent by their
wives to bring a packet of milk and decided to bet on a team they were sure to
win.
Facing the danger of being called stupid for the hundredth
time, the man of the house will do everything to bend the force of nature just
to make sure he retains his money, but plus a little more. Often, dharma (the
law of cause and effect) sits by and calls the man stupid in advance, making
sure Barcelona, with odds of 1.2, losing miserably to Las Palmas. A one-nil
loss. No over 2.5, no Messi goal.
And in that state of utter disappointment, the least that
man can do, even though he can constitutionally punch you, is call Barcelana by certain organs found in the nether
regions, which, by definition are overused. And this is not reserved only to the moment he lost his money, but
eternally. Even if Barcelona wins by ten goals, he will find something he
thinks is deragatory and says with Miguna’s conviction. And he will feel good
about until you tell him about how shitty Chelsea is, and he happens to be a
Chelsea fan.
Thursday 6 February 2020
He Thinks of You Till it Hurts
He sits in silent contemplation,
Turning thoughts of you,
The same thoughts of your loveliness
Your timeless laughter ringing in his head,
Echoing inside the void created by your absence,
And emptiness that fillas every part of his body
But he sits still, thinking
Of your eyes boring into his,
Of your hands tracing patterns of pleasure
on his skin
He thinks until your absence hurts
He misses you, but you are in a parallel universe
Getting concerned with problems unique with your world
Turning thoughts of you,
The same thoughts of your loveliness
Your timeless laughter ringing in his head,
Echoing inside the void created by your absence,
And emptiness that fillas every part of his body
But he sits still, thinking
Of your eyes boring into his,
Of your hands tracing patterns of pleasure
on his skin
He thinks until your absence hurts
He misses you, but you are in a parallel universe
Getting concerned with problems unique with your world
The Picture
It’s still you, the very lady I fell for,
The tooth gap, a door to your laughter
A thousand lives spring from your feet
I want to love you today,
And tomorrow a little more
Do not hoard your love to make me change
Be there for me when I need you
And I’ll be there when you need me
Everything will fall into place
A Sinner's Funeral
A palpable somber mood,
Wrung the air of oxygen,
Beckoned the departed to reveal secrets,
Secrets hoarded by the confined body
Still as though in
deep slumber
Mourners wondered where the destiny,
The mortal destiny of man
A destiny vast yet tiny as a coffin
As mourner after
mourner
Extolled the virtues of the departed
And prayed for her soul
As it met God’s ever just judgment
Was a her lack of religiosity the greatest sin
Tuesday 4 February 2020
Confessions of a Homo Technolopithecus
Picture the earth before creation – dark, desolate, and
scary. Time stretches endlessly, without the grasp of the ever swooshing
deadlines. Now picture yourself in that world, in this present world with
numerous technological distractions which have embedded themselves into your
everyday life.
You will be lonely in a crowd, wandering in the streets as
though you are a lost soul seeking redemption. I guess that’s how it feels
without a phone, for that’s the experience I went through back in the village
when power went off, and KPLC, ever reliable in disappointing, took its sweet
time.
I am homo technolopithecus, a reverse from the sapien sapien
thing. I can’t live without my phone. I love to feel it in my pocket, the right
pocket of my trouser, and whenever I feel its absence my whole body is sent
into unspeakable panic. It has to be there, even when I don’t need it, such as
when I am dead and need to check whether I have received a text.
You may have heard of people making jokes that the wifi was
down once and they were forced to talk to their families. They confessed that
they seem like nice people. I am one of them, though I do not overly peg my
existence on the internet. I just need to feel my phone, on for I derive
immense pleasure in drawing the security pattern and gawking at it endlessly,
for hours. When I get bored with it, I set it aside for ninety seconds and
resume fiddling with it.
I can’t, for the fluids in me, imagine how someone can survive
without a phone. Of course there are people who can live without it – dead
people and hopeless drunkards. Even though no one actively looks for me, I feel
I am obliged to be reachable. It is true with relationships.
When you are in love, there’s that constant need to validate
your affection. The only thing available, what with the distance is a phone.
Texting and calling brings forth two dimensions in a relationship – strengthen
it or break it. if you are dating a lady with the intelligence quotient of
boiled maize, it can be disastrous because every time your phone is off, she
conjures up a thousand scenarios of where you could be – which often is on top
of a naked woman. To her, there are never any other viable reasons as to why
you could be unreachable. That’s why I am a homo technolopithecus.
The other day, while with a friend, he turned and asked me
what postpartum meant. I looked at him with an ‘are you stupid glare’ and
answered him. Because I know things, and the way I know things is through
googling. That answers you why I thought he was stupid – he was holding his
phone, and I wondered why he couldn’t make use of it. Some people! They think
we have time to answer questions google can answer within a second, and not
just answer – have detailed illustrations that may even include pictures of
naked women.
As an avid social media user, I often rise in the morning to
see the posts and go like – what a complete moron. I love this routine so much that I log into
social media even before my eyes have fully deciphered the brain stimuli
instructing to open the eyelids. Even though social media has a certain
dumbing-down effect, I love it. I love gawking at pictures of people living
really good lives, read news and check out memes. Mostly I check out memes. And
imagine my complete uselessness.
Do not say ati I
am addicted to my phone. Everything is in my palms. What more can I ask for?
Money in my palm, entertainment, news, and naked pictures of women. I am a homo
technopithecus, and one day when my bones will be discovered in the year 4000,
they will discover my phone beside me. Archeologists at the time may wonder how
primitive I was (or I am right now), but I’ll answer them now – I don’t give a
damn.
Monday 3 February 2020
Sober Moments
Every sober moment gnaws
The edges of his mind like a saw
It reminds him of abandoned dreams
Stupor rids him of lofty aspirations
He desires not the soberness of a judge
The verdict is often unbearable for his person
The world looks him an elevated pedestal
Saying with only its eyes ‘you are a failure’
He is every inch one, and he needs to forget that
Every single second of the day
The world does not cut him some sluck
It demands what he can no longer give
Except drunken drools and disappointment
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